Such is life.

Can’t remember the last time i sat down to learn a new song.

Or had the drive to go out for a photo shoot.

And it gets increasingly challenging to write or think coherently anymore.

The impassivity of it all struck me. A day before leaving for Brunei. I can’t feel for things as passionately as before. I’m just an embodiment of a new found wave of unflinching passivity. Just going through motion, like sushi on a conveyor belt. That’s the scariest part really, feeling like a plate of sushi.

(Like one of those omelette ones, which hardly anyone gives a fuck about.)

I will continue to indulge in the music, photography, and literature, because i know for sure Stevie Ray Vaughan and Jimi Hendrix and John Mayer and Henri Cartier-Bresson and Haruki Murakami will be a constant force of nature that shapes this universe of mine. And my guitar(s), my camera(s) and my pen and paper will be the certainties i can come home to every single week, and they will be there for me to give my warmest embrace to.

18 days in Brunei will do not nothing but compound on this alienation that i feel deep down for about everything. I absolutely hate army life. I’m being transformed into this ultimate thumb-sucking, ever-compliant, ever-submissive soldier. I mean, whatever happened to my plans of self-preservation?

And when i get back, everything will be alright. Then again, of course, everything will be alright. The world’s not gonna change just because a few soldiers are stuck in a jungle for 18 days.

Gonna miss minced meat noodles/bak chor mee, that is for sure.

Sand in my shoes.

Hello, hello.

Tokyo was awesome.

Fantastic experience trying out the INFINITE(literally) number of guitars at Ochanomizu, the INFINITE number of cameras at Yodobashi, walking the endless beautiful streets, getting lost on the metro, photographing, shopping, food, excellent service standards, beautiful women, sashimi, ramen, more beautiful women, and more beautiful women.

I wish i stayed in Tokyo.

Alas, the back home is not as easy to live with as it was with those 5 days in Tokyo. Outfield and more outfield. Camo cream, helmet that weighs a million pounds, stupid rifle, guard duty, mimosa, mosquitoes, sandflies, ants, dust, mud, lack of sleep, stupid missions, route marches, lack of water, rain, sunshine.

It feels like an endless slide, all that is at the end is that you find your head burried in a pool of sand. Sand in your eyes. Sand in your shoes. Sand everywhere. No playmates, no playground thrill.

Then you go “Stupid playground. Fucking stupid playground. I hate you, fucking playground.”

It’s easy to do.

I just cannot see an end to this. I just can’t.

It was a short army week and i had the time, entitled of course, to spend with my friends and myself. And it’s a sad realisation that most of my friends are moving on and i’m stuck in this unwanted phase of preservation. I’m sick of living in a constant state of preparedness – preparing for this and that – from the tidiness of our living quarters to the array of ’stores’ that are obviously badly maintained in the first place. I’m sick of busted blisters. I’m sick of running with an injured ankle. I’m sick of war cries. Sick of marching. Sick of parades. Sick of green. Sick of carrying weapons. Sick of inane conversations, meaningless army songs, 5bx, the uniform, sergeant majors and every fucking thing between booking in and booking out.

Frankly, my love for my country hasn’t been reinforced ever since enlisting roughly 8 months ago. It’s still a bloody peaceful, efficient and dynamic country. I hate the IR and what it has done to good old Marina Bay, but that’s it. I love my country. It’s a country of changes – just look at Orchard Road – and i’ve made peace with the fact that we gotta embrace changes in this place we live in. But why must i, or we, in peace or at war, be subjected to these ugly regiments? I’m sick of pulling my bedsheets every morning, in the name of protecting my country; in the name of protecting my loved ones.

Just the other day we were having of 10km run. Having failed by 5 secs the previous attempt, and drawing impetus from unknown wells of optimism and energy, i passed – as the last runner of the day. So basically everyone, less the exempted, passed the 10km run. And i’m very proud, perhaps to tired to show it, but i was swollen in pride that day. It made understand collectivity – cos we’re only as strong as the last man. It was more than the personal shame to avoid, of my OC announcing in the presence of everyone “you’re the first… to fail” (back then during the first run when there were a more than a couple of failures). It’s more than that. I’m more than that.

Let me dwell on these thoughts for now. Have to book in on Sunday night this weekend, which is tonight. Time is really a premium these days.